


Unfinished Business

by TaeStarr



Series: In an Instant [3]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Character Turned Into a Ghost, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25921846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaeStarr/pseuds/TaeStarr
Summary: What happens after an adventure goes tragically awry?
Series: In an Instant [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1239230
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I promise that there is a (somewhat) happy ending to this one! It's only a few chapters away!

Louie awoke in an unfamiliar place. Well, maybe “awoke” wasn’t the right way to describe it. The sensation didn’t feel like waking up. It was like he was just suddenly _here,_ wherever here was, and he could not remember how he got here, or what he was doing before he got here. He felt like he was in a trance. Nothing quite felt real. His surroundings were too vivid to be a dream, yet too surreal to match reality.

The air was damp and cool and the lighting was low. Louie moved to the nearest wall and ran his wing against it. There was something wrong with his wing, but he couldn’t place it. There was an unusualness to it, an aura that convinced Louie something was amiss. Louie felt like his thoughts were moving through molasses, his very consciousness restricted by some unknown force.

He eventually looked down at his body. He realized he was naked, but for some reason it didn’t feel wrong. His body was odd in the same way that his wing was, but Louie still couldn’t place exactly what was wrong. Then he spotted the fleshy hole in his abdomen. That definitely hadn’t always been there. Louie felt it with his hand. It wasn’t painful. Maybe it _was_ normal.

He began to follow the wall of the room he found himself in, running his hand along the stone bricks and the grouting that bound them as he walked. It slowly dawned on him that he wasn’t actually _feeling_ anything. Despite his hand running along the wall, he felt no sense of touch. That was definitely odd.

Louie meandered for what could have been minutes or could have been hours – the concept of time seemed obscure and inconceivable – before finding a set of wooden stairs leading to a door. Louie could see warm yellow light filtering through the gap between the door and the floor.

With nothing else he could classify as a “lead,” Louie ascended the stairs, grasping ahold of the handle at the top and twisting. The handle did not budge. Louie threw his weight against the door and suddenly found himself falling. He landed on his side on a rug, and rolled onto his back, propping himself by his elbows and looking at the door. He was on the other side, but that door definitely never opened. It couldn’t have opened; there were at least five different locking mechanisms running up the door, not including the deadbolt itself. Again, this was something that Louie was able to identify as definitely _wrong,_ but he couldn’t discern exactly _why._

Picking himself up off the ground, Louie glanced to his sides. He was in a hallway of some sort. A familiar hallway. Distantly familiar, but familiar nonetheless. It was ostentatiously decorated; even in this surreal mental state, Louie could identify wealth. It felt like he had been here in the past, or maybe in a dream. Louie wasn’t entirely convinced that he wasn’t dreaming now.

Some faint sounds like silverware on a plate drew Louie in one direction down the hall. As he walked, he passed many portraits of ducks young and old that lined the ornate hallway. He didn’t recognize any of them, but simultaneously felt like he had known them his whole life. As he passed each painting, his mind filled with the entire lived experiences of those depicted: from birth to death, every triumph and every failure, every joy and every tragedy. It should have felt overwhelming, but Louie felt like he absorbed all this information in a microsecond. His life would be recorded here, too. He just knew it. How he knew it was a question whose answer still escaped him.

An opening in the wall lead to the room where the noises were originating. It definitely sounded like a few people eating, and as Louie got closer he could hear a few low voices that backed his theory up. One was distinctly male and the other distinctly female. A couple, perhaps?

Louie stood in the portal between the hallway and the dining room, staring at the elderly couple at opposite ends of a long table, both of whom were eating from ornate bowls. He recognized both of them. Exactly who they were escaped him, but it felt like his mind was screaming at him that he should know who they are.

The man at the table was the first to notice him, and his mouth dropped agape. A melancholy look fell over his face as he and Louie locked eyes. The woman, who had yet to notice Louie’s presence, was still talking, continuing whatever conversation the couple had been having before Louie’s interruption.

“Fergus, are you alri-”

Finally, the woman followed the gaze of the man to the entryway, and she gasped. Her hands flew to her face, shock and horror clear in her expression. Exactly why he would elicit such a reaction, Louie did not know. If he was being threatening, he didn’t intend to be.

“Oh, lad,” the old man (Fergus, was it? That name rang so many bells) said softly. “You poor wee lad.”

The woman broke down into sobs, covering her face and weeping into her hands. Again, Louie didn’t know what he had done to cause this woman so much pain, but he still felt bad. She looked genuinely anguished.

The man approached slowly and stood in front of Louie. “Llewellyn, lad, do you know where you are?”

The man knew his name. Louie didn’t find this unsettling, but he did find it confusing. Who was he? Louie tried to speak, but no words came. In lieu of replying vocally, Louie just shook his head.

The woman approached as well. Her tears had stopped, but she still had a pained expression on her face. The man turned to her. “It obviously happened very recently. He’s confused. He hasn’t accepted it. His soul hasn’t settled yet.”

That was definitely a disconcerting comment. Why would his soul need to settle? What does that even mean? What did he need to accept?

The man turned back to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Louie didn’t feel it. “Lad, it’s me, your great-great Uncle Fergus McDuck. Scrooge’s father. This is your great-great Aunt Downy. Do you remember us?”

Louie again found he could not speak. He nodded. It was partially a lie: he still didn’t fully recognize them, but he definitely recognized Scrooge’s name. Why were his uncle’s parents here? More importantly, why was _he_ here?

“You are at the ancient Castle McDuck, the final resting ground of all who lived with McDuck blood coursing through their veins. Do you understand?”

Louie nodded. Fergus’ face twisted into a sorrowful look.

“I… I’m so sorry, sonny,” he eventually said shakily. The man wrapped him in an embrace – Louie still couldn’t feel anything – and silently cried. Boy, these two were acting weird. Why were they so sad? Why was this man apologizing to him?

Louie replayed the man’s words in his head. Louie’s soul hadn’t settled, and he was at the final resting ground of all those who had McDuck blood. Ducks like Louie.

In one moment it all came back to him. The encounter with the living statue in the crypt, the impact of the beam against his stomach, the searing pain as he lay bleeding on the stone floor. He remembered Huey and Dewey there, trying their hardest, futile as it may have been, to stem the bleeding.

He remembered the moment everything went black.

Twenty years old was far too young to die.

“I’m… dead, aren’t I?” Louie finally managed to speak.

Downy stifled another sob. Fergus hung his head. “Yes, laddie,” the old man whispered somberly, “you are no longer among the living.”

The realization seemed to clear away the mental fog Louie had been feeling since appearing in the crypt of the castle. He felt like himself again, instead of like he were in a dream state. It was intensely clarifying. Unfortunately it meant that he suddenly had to cope with his own death. He looked down at the wound on his abdomen.

“Judging by the thing on my stomach, it wasn’t a pleasant way to go,” Louie said with an awkward smirk. Now didn’t seem to be like a particularly opportune time for levity. Despite this, the joke seemed to land: a sad sort of smile appeared on Fergus’ face, and Downy actually chuckled through her tears.

“Nay, not a pleasant way tae go at all, that one,” she blubbered through her tears.

Louie leaned against the wall of the entryway. The weight of his death finally began to rest on him. “Oh, man, I… I feel so bad for Huey and Dewey. And the rest of the family…” Louie put his back against the wall and slid down it into a seated position, hanging his head between his knees. “I didn’t mean to hurt them like this.”

“Death comes for us all, lad,” Fergus replied, the irony of his own immortality lost on nobody, “As does the necessity to cope with death. Your family will miss you forever, but they will be okay.”

“Huey and Dewey had to watch me-” Louie paused, not wanting to say the word. He’d accepted his fate, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. “-had to watch me _die._ They had to watch me _bleed to death._ Just because I got cocky. If I’d been paying attention, I would have dodged that damn beam.”

“It is not your fault, Louie,” Downy said, almost scolding.

“Sure as hell feels like it,” Louie replied.

“I’m positive your brothers don’t blame you,” Fergus objected. “In fact, they probably blame themselves, as irrational as that feeling is too.”

“You think that makes me feel better?” Louie snapped back, rising to his feet and puffing out his chest. “Fantastic! Not only do I get myself killed and traumatize my brothers for life, but I manage to make them think it’s their fault?!”

“Calm down, lad, you know that’s not what I meant.”

Louie deflated and his shoulders drooped. “I know, Uncle Fergus. I’m sorry. I-I just…” Louie stuttered, unable to find the words to express his feelings.

“There’s so much you’re going to miss,” Downy eventually offered. “There’s so much that your brothers are going to do that they’d want you to be around for.”

“And how much that’s going to _hurt_ them. How much my death is going to hurt my brothers, and my sister, and mom, and – oh god – Uncle Donald. That man is going to be an absolute wreck for _weeks_. None of them deserve this! None of them deserve what I’ve done to them!” Louie kicked at the wall, but his foot passed right through it.

“I don’t get how any of this works!” Louie yelled, frustrated. Louie kicked at the wall again, receiving the same result. He began swinging his arms, throwing haymakers at the wall, but his fists continually failed to make contact. He let out a frustrated yell.

“Lad. Lad! _Lad!”_ Fergus screamed. Louie stopped and turned to his uncle. “I know it isn’t fair, but this is your new reality. I’m not a ghost, so I’m not positive how this all works,” Fergus explained, gesturing towards Louie’s ghostly form. “You’re going to have to figure this all out yourself. It’s a rotten deal, I know, but having a rage fit isnae going to help.”

“I just want to see my family, man!” Louie spat back. “Being stuck here for an eternity seems like my own personal hell!” Louie paused for a few moments before adding, “That has nothing to do with you two, obviously. Being stuck here for the rest of time just sounds so _boring._ ”

A few moments of silence followed. “All the souls here eventually do find true rest,” Downy said softly. “You’re not going to be stuck wandering these halls for an eternity. But there are things that continue to tie you to the realm of the living. _‘Unfinished business,’_ as they say.”

“And how am I supposed to finish this ‘unfinished business’ if I’m stuck here?” Louie asked.

“Whatever your soul needs for you to rest shall be revealed to you in due time,” Fergus replied. “At least, that’s how I’ve been told it works! Odds are I’ll never know for certain thanks to our son and the immortality curse he subjected us to,” he tacked on. Downy shot him a glare, and Fergus returned a sheepish grin. “I’m sure it’ll be revealed to you soon, sonny.”

“I sure hope so, Uncle Fergus…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is why I included the "heavy angst" tag. This one is almost nothing but pain and sadness. Sorry. The comfort comes later :>

Huey knew that a healthy 20-year-old could never actually run out of tears. Assuming they were functioning correctly, the lacrimal glands would replenish the supply of tears much faster than anyone could feasibly release them, no matter how much they cried.

It still felt like he had run out of tears. He just couldn’t cry anymore. All he could do was blankly stare at the face of his lifeless brother and try to convince himself that none of this was real. That the wound on his brother’s abdomen wasn’t real.

That Louie wasn’t actually dead.

It didn’t work. It couldn’t work. Huey had watched the life leave Louie’s eyes. The moment would not stop replaying in his mind. It was so vivid. Too vivid. Too vivid to be a dream or in any way illusory.

When Louie was a small child, he’d occasionally wake up in tears, crying because of a nightmare he’d just had. On these occasions, Huey and Dewey would join him on the bottom bunk, laying on either side of him. The comfort of having his brothers so close helped him sleep.

Huey and Dewey found themselves in a similar position now, lying on either side of their brother who would never wake again. It provided at least a minimal amount of comfort to them in an extremely uncomfortable time, reverting to a child-like state in order to recapture some of the innocence they’d lost.

The soft impact of wheels hitting runway jerked both men back to reality. Louie was gone, his body laid on a bed pulled out of the wall of the cargo bay, covered up to the neck in a white sheet. As the Sunchaser slowed, Huey and Dewey stood, stretching their muscles and adjusting the ill-fitting plain white tees that they both wore. They had both used their clothes in a fruitless effort to stem the bleeding. These tees were the only replacement the plane had to offer.

Huey pulled the sheet the rest of the way over Louie’s body, covering his face. The two brothers then made their way to the top of the loading dock, waiting for it to open. The rest of the family (save Webby, who was flying in from Europe where S.H.U.S.H. had stationed her with Lena and Violet) was waiting on the runway for them.

“I don’t think I’m ready for this, Dewey,” Huey said softly, his voice barely registering. “I don’t know if I can face them.”

Dewey turned to his brother and wrapped him in a tight hug. “I feel the same way, bro,” Dewey replied, “I’m here for you. With you.”

That was all that needed to be said. That was all that could be said. As the plane came to a stop, the ramp began to slowly open. Low light from the twilight sky entered the plane. It wasn’t bright, but Huey still winced. It hurt to be reminded that there was a world outside of this plane that he’d eventually have to return to. At this moment he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to. He glanced over to Dewey, whose lower bill was quivering. He wondered if his younger brother felt similarly.

The ramp finally finished opening. At the bottom stood their mother, with their uncles on either side of her. The three didn’t immediately start up the ramp, just as Huey and Dewey stayed glued to their spot at the top of it. Both groups seemed frozen, unable to make the first move.

Della eventually took the first step. She slowly made her way up the loading dock of the Sunchaser, her brother and her uncle matching her slow pace. She wanted to believe that this was all one big joke. She knew that her family wouldn’t lie to her about something like this, but she still would have preferred that this all be a hideous joke rather than the truth.

Louie was gone; the proof was lying on a bed just up the ramp. Della wasn’t ready to see, she’d never be ready to see, but she knew she had to. Otherwise she’d never be able to convince herself that any of this was real.

Eventually Dewey managed to find the will to take a step down toward them. Then another. And another. Soon Dewey was almost sprinting down the ramp toward his mother. Dewey’s movement seemed to knock Huey out of his trance, and he too began to quickly make his way down the ramp, right on his brother’s heels.

Dewey wordlessly wrapped his arms around his mother, burying his face in her shoulder and crying silently. Della left her arms open for Huey, who joined the embrace, placing his cheek on the back of Dewey’s head. Della choked back a few sobs as she held her sons. Donald and Scrooge stood back and allowed the three to share this moment before the group reached out and pulled them both into the embrace, which continued with sniffles but without words for some time.

When they finally broke apart, Scrooge was the first to find his voice.

“Are ye boys alright? I mean, are ye hurt?”

Dewey simply shook his head while Huey replied with a soft “no.” Huey looked to his Uncle Donald. His expression was hard to read. That man was the closest thing he or Dewey or Louie had to a father, and Huey knew he must be hurting badly. He was good at hiding it. Wetness had visibly collected on Scrooge’s lower eyelids, but that man was from a generation who refused to cry in front of others.

Della stared up toward the top of the ramp. “I… don’t think I’m ready for this…” she muttered.

“None of us are, lass,” Scrooge replied.

“I’m still holding out hope that this is some sick joke,” Donald said distantly to no one in particular, as if he weren’t even part of the conversation. Under better circumstances, Della would have appreciated the fact that she and her twin were always on the same page. They practically had telepathy. Instead, she grabbed her brother and put his arm around her shoulder, then put her own arm around his.

“I love you, Donny,” Della said, her voice shaky, “let’s go say goodbye to our boy.”

The twins leaned on each other for support as they crested the ramp and made their way toward the bed against the wall some distance away. Scrooge and the boys followed closely behind. The outline of a form was visible under the sheet. When they were about twenty feet away, Della froze. “I… I can’t,” Della whispered, “I can’t do this.”

“I’m here, Della. We need to do this,” Donald soothed, holding his sister tighter.

“I can’t, I can’t,” Della repeated, her tears returning. She knew the truth but she wasn’t ready to have it confirmed. There was a modicum of relief in not knowing with absolute certainty that she’d lost her son. That pittance of relief would vanish once she saw his face, and all she’d have left was hopelessness.

Scrooge trotted past the twins slowly, eyes focused on the sheet, unblinking. He moved forward in an almost zombie-like state. Once he reached the side of the bed, he put a hand on the sheet, readying himself to pull it back. “Della, lass,” he said, turning to his weeping niece, “you said it yourself: we need to say goodbye. I won’t pull the sheet back until you tell me it’s okay. Take all the time you need.”

Della inhaled deeply, straightening her back before pushing forward toward the side of the bed with Donald at her side. Without a word, she nodded to Scrooge to tell him she was ready (or, at least, as ready as she’d ever be).

Scrooge gingerly pulled the sheet back to reveal Louie’s face. Almost immediately, Scrooge turned around and exhaled loudly, tapping his cane against the floor a few times in an effort to stop his tears from falling. A few fell to the floor regardless.

Della felt a wave of dizziness and fell against her brother. Donald caught her and brought her back to a standing position. She swallowed heavily and looked again. Louie looked so wrong, so pale. She leaned over his body and brought her cheek against his. As she held Louie close, she began sobbing in earnest.

Huey couldn’t bear to be too close as the scene unfolded before him. He was entirely aware that blaming himself was irrational, but it didn’t stop him from doing so. Watching his mother weep, he’d never felt so guilty in his life. She was clearly in so much pain. Pain that his brain told him he was not responsible for, but that his heart told him he was.

Dewey stood back with his brother, numbly processing the anguish of his family. This sucked. That was a hell of an understatement, but his brain was too overwhelmed to process this in any other way. Everything about this sucked.

His eyes eventually found his Uncle Donald, standing at the foot of the bed, delicately rubbing his sister’s back as she wept. He seemed to stare vacantly through her. The inscrutable look on his face disturbed Dewey. Uncle Donald tended to be a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve. It was unusual for him to bottle them up like this.

Della eventually rose from the bed, turning to her brother and falling into his arms. Donald held her and gently rocked her back and forth as she buried her face in his chest. Scrooge took the opportunity to take a seat at the head of the bed, looking down at his lifeless nephew and running a finger down his cheek. He began to softly hum a little tune – an old Gaelic lullaby his mother would sing to him as a child – taking Louie’s hand and clasping it in his own. 

“I’m so sorry, lad,” Scrooge whispered as he brought Louie’s hand up to his bill and kissed it. Scrooge had fancied that Louie might one day take over as McDuck Enterprises’ CFO. He’d been thinking about getting Louie in the money bin more, training him up to be ready to take the job in a few years’ time. The kid was brilliant with numbers and trends, a financial savant in the making. All of that potential was just gone. Not wasted, but gone. All the great things his nephew was going to do… gone.

\---

Not long later, McDuck Manor was filled with guests, mostly family and a few of Louie’s closest friends and associates, and the mood was somber yet cordial. People were sharing stories, laughing as they recalled all of the antics Louie got up to over the years. It was therapeutic for Huey. The focus seemed to be on Louie’s life, not his death.

_They know it’s your fault._

It was comforting for Huey to know that so many people loved Louie and would drop their various plans to not only comfort him and his family, but also celebrate Louie’s life.

_They’re just being nice because it just happened._

_Once the dust has settled they’ll all turn on you. They’ll hate you._

_They already hate you._

Huey did his best to tune the thoughts out, but it was impossible. In fact, the thoughts tuned everything else out. When the crowd would chuckle at a story someone was telling about Louie, Huey would subconsciously smile and laugh too, but he wasn’t listening. He couldn’t listen.

Eventually Huey excused himself. His awkward exit caught Dewey’s attention, who slipped out of the crowd to follow his brother. Huey aimlessly wandered through the halls, speed-walking with no destination, hoping he could somehow physically outpace his own mind and escape the hatred and invective it spewed at him. It became increasingly clear that that was not going to work. Huey opened the nearest door and entered a broom closet, closing the door behind him. He collapsed to the ground, sobbing and hyperventilating wildly to the point he felt like he was going to pass out. Like he was going to die.

Dewey, only a few seconds behind, gingerly opened the door. “Hue?” he asked softly. Huey was vaguely aware of his presence, most of his senses nulled by his fear and his anguish. Dewey stepped inside the closet and closed the door behind him, but not before pulling the chain to turn on the light.

Huey writhed on the ground, the space not big enough for him to lay completely flat. His wails were loud and they warbled with his unsteady breathing. Dewey knelt beside him and laid a hand on him. This caused Huey to jump and suddenly turn toward his brother, his eyes as wide as they could be.

“Huey, it’s Dewey. I’m here for you. You can get through this. Let’s focus on breathing,” Dewey soothed. He brought Huey to a seated position with his back against one of the walls. Huey shoved his head into the corner of the closet and continued to bawl and gasp wildly.

Dewey placed an arm around Huey’s shoulder, tenderly tugging him back to an upright position. “Huey, focus on my voice. Concentrate on the present. Your thoughts are scary but they cannot hurt you,” Dewey said softly, “I want you to breathe with me, alright? One, two, three.”

After the count, Dewey loudly inhaled through his nostrils. After another quick countdown, he exhaled. He repeated this process many times until Huey finally began to mimic him. Huey eventually curled up with his head in Dewey’s lap, softly crying and sniffling.

“Boys?” a voice asked from the other side of the door. Dewey wordlessly leaned and pulled on the handle to open the door. Della was standing out in the hall, looking down at her sons in the closet with a look of concern. “What’s wrong?”

Dewey opened his bill to reply, but Huey beat him to it. “I freaked out, what else is new?” he grumbled bitterly.

“Don’t talk like that, Huey,” Dewey scolded.

“You have every right to be overwhelmed on a day like this,” Della added. “Come on, let’s get you out of this closet. You don’t have to go back out there. We can spend the rest of the night in your room, if you’d like.”

“N-no, I want to go back out,” Huey replied. “If Louie is watching us throw a party in his honor from above, he’d want me to be in attendance.”

Huey was met with a few moments of silence, and could feel how unsure his brother and his mother were. “I’ll be fine, I promise,” Huey added, “I’d like to give my brother a proper send-off.”

The rest of the night went smoothly with plenty of stories told, plenty of laughs shared, and plenty of tears shed. Webby arrived early the next morning with her fiancée Lena and soon-to-be sister-in-law Violet in tow. More tears were shed with them. The funeral was only a few days after that. Even more tears were shed there. But the tears seemed to hurt less each time. The pain of their loss didn’t dull, but it became more manageable. Life was slowly approaching some semblance of normalness.

The only one who seemed unable to readjust was Donald. He hadn’t lost that distant, emotionless affect since the day of Louie’s death. The family would try to reach out, but he’d meet them with curt “I’m fine”s and noticeably fake smiles. Huey went to seek help from a psychiatrist, who told him that he could only treat Donald if Donald chose to be treated. His advice was to keep tabs on Donald, let him know that they were there for support, but to give him space. Donald would open up when he was ready.

So life carried on. Before anyone knew it, it’d been a week. And then two. Huey and Dewey would still feel a twinge of hurt when their brother didn’t come out to greet them every morning, and they definitely missed Louie’s weekly movie nights, but life went on.

Uncle Scrooge knew that the day was fast approaching. He’d been closely monitoring meteorological data out of Scotland, and things were beginning to line up. It would only be a few days, now.

\---

His death was a hell of a cloud to try and put a silver lining on, but Louie found a way: he’d managed to get himself killed mere weeks before the mists of Dismal Downs cleared. The mists cleared only once every five years, granting access to Castle McDuck. He and the family would visit each time, spending a weekend with Scrooge’s parents and getting themselves into trouble in the crypt.

Louie was sure the family would visit again.

“Unfinished business,” huh? A proper goodbye seemed like it could easily be his unfinished business. Letting Huey and Dewey know it wasn’t their fault, that they shouldn’t blame themselves. Apologizing to Webby for missing her wedding – Lena had popped the question only a few weeks earlier. Thanking his Uncle Scrooge for giving him an exciting childhood that most children could only dream of, and thanking his Uncle Donald for all the sacrifices he made so that Louie even had a childhood to begin with. Giving his mother some closure after she worked so hard for a decade to make sure she’d be a part of his life.

Maybe then, Louie could rest. He wouldn’t have wanted to before he got a chance to truly say goodbye. He was glad the universe was giving him a chance.


End file.
